Hunter's Moon

by Susan Laine

  “Everything’s okay. We’re at the Rosedown parking lot.”

  The deep voice was almost a whisper. Trying to keep his heart from hammering through his chest and getting his sleepy eyes to focus, Kieran found Gabriel sitting next to him on the bench seat, cool as a cucumber. The cowboy’s smile was reassuring but weaker than Kieran would have wished for, he mused—and then he practically jumped out of his skin with the weirdness of the thought.

  Shifting to a more upright position—and simultaneously dislodging Gabriel’s touch on his arm—Kieran coughed and looked around through the windows. “Already? You must’ve driven pretty fast.”

  “No. It’s been over an hour since you fell asleep.” Kieran dared a look at Gabriel, but the man didn’t see him because he was watching the orange-tinted skies through the windshield. “It’s getting late. The sun’s going down in a couple of hours. Do you really have a place here where we can spend the night? Or do we keep going?” Gabriel looked down at his feet, and it was then that Kieran realized the man had driven without any shoes, with feet that must’ve already been hurting. “I don’t mind either way. I can keep driving for a while. Your call.”

  “There’s a small river that runs behind the plantation, and I have a small safe house by the water there. It’s camouflaged, just north of Rosedown, and no one goes there. Well… when I say house, I mean more of a… shack, really.” Hearing his own apologetic, embarrassed tone, he couldn’t for the life of him fathom why he was explaining that to Gabriel. Surely the man understood why he was forced to hide in places like these.

  Gabriel shrugged as if disinterested. “Lead on.” He got out of the truck, elegantly for a man of his musculature and size, and Kieran found himself staring at the cowboy’s receding back with his mouth hanging open. Shutting his mouth with an audible click, Kieran followed suit in a flurry of movement, remembering to wipe away any prints on the steering wheel, the stick shift, and the GPS, and grabbing his bulletproof vest before jumping out.

  They abandoned the truck and headed north past the gift shop near the parking lot. There were dirt paths that led into the woods. From their state, it was apparent the trails were well traveled, but they all soon turned back toward the plantation, while Kieran led the two of them into the woods on a poor footpath that obviously saw few feet.

  Green surrounded them on all sides now. Massive old oak trees with large branches like long, wide arms spreading out created a thick canopy above them. Hickories and pecans added to the thickness with their own branches, and tall cypresses stood with their hanging moss masking views to the horizon behind an obscuring green-grey veil. Birds were singing and a few crickets sounded here and there, but other than those natural noises, it was serene. Sweet and rotting smells mixed from the river and the woods, and the earth was damp and at times bogged them down, the sloshing sounds created by their feet almost obscenely loud. Kieran hated this part of the South, where hard ground and swampland mixed too close, and one could never tell if the next step would land on solid earth or sinking soil. Insects were buzzing, louder as they neared the narrow strip of water, which was more of a brook than a river.

  From time to time, Kieran glanced over his shoulder at Gabriel to see if the man was following and how fast and how well. He worried over the state of the man’s feet and kept stealing furtive looks at them.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Gabriel said suddenly in a calm voice, spooking Kieran so that he nearly walked into a tree. “I’m a lycan. I’ll heal quickly, and there is very little pain. This is more annoying than anything.”

  Kieran turned away, ashamed for reasons he didn’t bother to analyze. “Cool.”

  Quiet for only a few minutes, Gabriel spoke again, this time in a hushed tone, as if worried someone would overhear them. “Are you sure it will be safe to spend the night? How long will it take before they find us?”

  Kieran knew Gabriel’s words weren’t intended as a recrimination, yet that’s how he heard them, and he gritted his teeth. “We ditched the car. If the GPS still works, they’ll find it and start figuring out what alternative means of transportation are available.”

  “Like stolen trucks?” The question was more curious than accusatory.

  “Yes.” Kieran took a deep breath to center himself. “The good news is, they’re not the authorities, and as such they don’t have access to surveillance cameras and shit. The bad news is, they’re more than capable of pretending to be the authorities to get access to all possible means of tracking us.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  Kieran heard the concern in Gabriel’s deep voice, and he didn’t like it one damn bit. “Yeah, well, no one said this was going to be easy.” After that he fell silent, and Gabriel followed his lead. So they passed their journey through the rough, untamed terrain in unpleasant silence.

  When they reached the edge of the water, Kieran saw their destination. The branches of a large oak tree broadly covered a ramshackle shed that looked like it had been overrun by the elements—all of them at once. It didn’t look livable or safe.

  “Is that what they call rustic chic?”

  Without meaning to, Kieran laughed out loud at Gabriel’s commentary, which had sounded snobbish but had probably been more amused than derisive. “Only the best for my guests.” Giving a careful, detailed glance around, Kieran sniffed the air and tilted his head to listen for any unusual sounds. Anticipating anything from lost hikers to armed assault teams, he waited in place to see if something would surface.

  “There is no one here. There was a family of five in the plantation north garden plus two young girls at the gift shop. But there’s no one here now.”

  Kieran turned to Gabriel, who met his gaze with his own leveled one. Looking away, Kieran nodded in frustrated acceptance of the fact and mumbled, “Thanks.”

  Walking into the shed, which looked in danger of imminent collapse with its shaky roof and beaten boards, Kieran made sure nothing was disturbed by human hands. The broken windows and the door standing ajar were just as he had left them five days previously. Inside, the floor was sprinkled with dead leaves, moss, and gravel blown in by the occasional breeze. A rickety chair and tilting wooden table stood feebly against the left wall; a rusty, metal-framed bed with a dirty mattress was situated on the right; and a busted fireplace made of cobblestones dominated the back wall, cracked and filthy like everything else in the hut.

  There was evidence of some small critters and perhaps birds having been there, if the droppings and upturned empty tin cans were anything to go by. He cared for none of that. Crouching down to the old, worn, once sky-blue piece of dirty rug, and finding the latch underneath, he twisted it open. The rug was attached to a wooden trapdoor with a nail, so it rose and set with the door.

  “What is that?” Gabriel asked behind him. Kieran hated when someone stood directly behind his back, not speaking or moving. Because of that age-old disquieting feeling, he didn’t bother replying.

  Underneath the secret trapdoor was a metallic hatch with a lock and a numbered keypad sealed behind reinforced glass. Kieran flipped the lid of the keypad open and punched in a five-digit access code. He took out a key that dangled along with his dog tags on a metal chain around his neck and unlocked the hatch. Turning the handle created a series of grinding sounds as underground gears shifted, and Kieran lifted the hatch.

  As he descended the metal staircase into the darkness, he smiled and said to himself, “Ah, home, sweet home.”

  It didn’t take him long to get the generator up and running, and his underground safe haven was lit with a soft yellowish glow from mining lamps high up on the walls.

  Gabriel had followed Kieran down and was inspecting the place with a curious eye. “Is this a bomb shelter?”

  Kieran could see why the cowboy would think that. The cement bunker had been built in the floor plan of a cross, with the entrance in one peg, two beds in another, a basic kitchenette in the third, and an open door that led to a tiny bathroom in the
fourth, just opposite the entrance. The whole area was filled with bare necessities like toilet paper, batteries, first aid kits, canisters of gas and oil, a wealth of tin cans of preserved food, water bottles and water filters, a compass, several rolls of maps, matches and lighters, a signal mirror and flares, an assortment of guns and knives, and various tool boxes—and in one corner a stack of books, mostly detective stories and survival guides, ranging from How To Survive WWIII to How To Survive a Zombie Apocalypse. You could never be too careful.

  These things took up every available free space, and Gabriel kept looking at them long and hard. Kieran coughed as he passed the man to close the trapdoor and hatch, speaking quickly to explain. “This is the South. Home of the survival enthusiasts. This place is set for a long-term shelter even though we won’t stay long. There’s an internal power generator, running water, even working plumbing. We won’t starve, and no one is going to blast their way in here in a hurry, not through these walls or that hatch. We’re safe for now.” Kieran headed for the bathroom to check everything was in order, just to keep himself busy. “Make yourself at home. Might I suggest, uh, taking a shower? I have several changes of clothing. Some might even be in your size.”

  Gabriel spoke from behind Kieran again, which drove him up the wall, but from the sound of his voice, he hadn’t moved from the entrance. “Is the hatch the only way in or out?”

  “No.” Kieran was aware he sounded curt and rude, but he needed a breather and some space to reflect on all that had happened in the span of half a day. “You gonna take that shower or what?”

  “Thank you.” Gabriel was equally short, but his tone was, as always, deep and relaxed, and his gratitude seemed sincere.

  Kieran made sure the water ran and the sink didn’t flood. “The water’s lukewarm and the spray isn’t very strong, but it should be enough for our immediate needs.”

  Backing out of the tiny room, Kieran bumped into Gabriel, who had come closer. The solid heat of the cowboy’s tall, broad body caused Kieran’s breath to hitch in his throat, his palms to sweat, and his cock to spring to life so fast his vision was spotty and hazy.

  Murmuring vague, smothered apologies, Kieran swallowed and sidestepped Gabriel in a hurry. If Gabriel noticed any of Kieran’s reactions, he didn’t show or acknowledge it in any way. “I’ll, uh, bring you a towel and something to change into, okay?” he hollered as he moved off and found what he needed quickly enough.

  “Thank you,” Gabriel repeated, his voice audible over the slow sprinkling trickle of the shower spray.

  For an interminable time, Kieran just stood there in the dead center of the underground bunker, holding a natural white terry towel, brown sweats, and red T-shirt in his trembling hands, unable to take the necessary steps to walk into that bathroom—where Gabriel would be standing naked in the shower. Panting hard, both aroused and panicky, Kieran felt his heart hammering in his chest. For perhaps the first time in his life he was frozen in place, not knowing what to do.

  “Do you by any chance have any shoes that could fit me?” Gabriel inquired from the bathroom.

  Kieran jumped at the sound of the cowboy’s voice, as though he had done something to be ashamed of. His emotions and sensations may have shorted out at Gabriel’s mere touch, but given a concrete task, his professionalism switched on immediately. Scanning the hideout, he searched both what he saw and what he remembered of his reserves to find shoes that could fit the big man.

  “Yeah, yeah, I might have something, some old boots.”

  “That would be great. Thank you kindly.”

  There went the cool voice again, dripping like honey down to Kieran’s bone marrow, so deep within him he didn’t know if he would ever be able to get every trace of Gabriel out of his system. Hot and hard in his pants again, Kieran fought for control, closing his eyes firmly and digging his fingernails into his palms.

  “I am not gay, I am not gay, I am not gay….” Like a holy mantra, he kept repeating the words over and over, praying for them to be true—though they felt wrong. Kieran had never desired a man. He had never even thought of a man in that way. Well, there was that mutual jerk-off session back in college with his roommate, but that didn’t make him gay. At least, that was what he insisted on telling himself. It had just been, um, casual friends doing… friendly things…. God, that sounds so hollow.

  The sound of running water cut off, and Kieran snapped out of his feverish, conflicted thoughts to step closer to the door, which was slightly ajar, and reached inside with his offering. “Here’s a towel and clothes.” Gabriel took them with a quick “thank you.”

  Putting his mind onto other things, Kieran searched the room for the old hunting boots he had. They were three sizes too big for him, but then again, he used them for just that reason. If he needed to pretend he was bigger and heavier than he actually was, he used those boots with lead weights hidden in their soles. He found them stashed under one of the cots. They were worn, dirty, and scuffed, but they would do in a pinch.

  “Got the shoes,” he called out, still kneeling between the cots.

  “That’s wonderful. Thanks.”

  Gabriel stood astride at the center of the hideout, drying his wet, short dark-blond hair with the towel, the brown sweats tight on his long, sturdy legs and riding low on his hips. Since he didn’t have the red T-shirt on, Kieran could easily see the entirety of his broad, muscular chest with its light dusting of hair and the thicker trail descending from his navel down beneath the waistband. Tanned skin, stout muscles, tall athletic body…. Why had Kieran never noticed the aesthetics of the masculine figure?

  The compulsion overcame Kieran before his brain shut down his mouth. “Can I check and wash your feet? After the rough ride they’ve had….”

  Gabriel stopped working his hair in midmotion, and his brown eyes widened in surprise. “Uh, it’s not really necessary. I’m a werewolf, and—”

  “Please.” The pleading in his voice told Kieran he was navigating uncharted waters, and yet he could not steer clear for refuge.

  Blinking hesitantly a few times, Gabriel dipped his gaze to the floor in a bashful way, and his long black eyelashes came down upon his high, sun-kissed cheeks like half-moon-shaped veils. Kieran’s cock stood up to applaud. Gabriel sniffed the air and looked up, astonished, and his head tilted to the side as if he was perplexed. When the cowboy licked his thin lips amid dark-golden stubble, Kieran was certain he would pop in his pants any second now.

  “If you want.” Jumping guiltily, Kieran thought for a second Gabriel had read all the salacious fantasies in his mind, but he quickly set aside the ridiculous notion. Although… he didn’t in actuality know much about mythical beings aside from their offensive and defensive capabilities, so for all he knew, lycans could be telepathic.

  As Gabriel closed the distance between them to sit on one of the simple cots, Kieran got up and headed for the bathroom, where the faint scents of juniper and rum from the soap lingered, tickling his nose. Closing his eyes for mental reinforcement, Kieran took a rustic, old galvanized-metal wash bucket, filled it with water that he hoped was a little warmer now than the tepid temperature it had been before, and went back to his cowboy.

  Kieran actually had to stop midstep as that image arose in his head. My cowboy? Gabriel is not my cowboy. He is not my anything. Shuddering, he walked over to Gabriel, who sat on the cot. The man had brought his pant legs up to his knees and was leaning back, braced on his strong arms, looking comfortable and at ease. Yet, like a predator waiting for his prey to come to him, he watched intently and unwaveringly as Kieran came closer, laid down the wash basin, and knelt in front of it.

  “Ready?” Without waiting for an answer, Kieran grabbed Gabriel’s left ankle carefully and placed his foot in the tub. Gabriel himself put in the other. Kieran got up, went to the bathroom to get some eucalyptus-scented body oil, and returned to his former position, feeling a strange and bewildering fluttering of butterflies in his stomach when he saw Gabriel wiggling his
toes in the water playfully, like a happy child. Why did everything the man do call out to him so?

  Putting a towel across his knee, Kieran took Gabriel’s left foot out of the water, rested it on his leg, and inspected the foot for cuts and abrasions. There were none.

  “Told you.” The scolding, yet teasing, tone of Gabriel’s voice made Kieran’s heart jump.

  Licking the dryness off his lips, he started rubbing at the foot in his lap. The skin was warm, soft, and a little wrinkly, and the muscles and tendons within were pliable. He added the lotion, and the slickness made the motions smoother and easier. Kieran was so out of his element he was practically on another planet. He had never in his life given anyone a foot rub, not even a girlfriend. Yet he continued, his fingers molding and kneading the flexible, yielding flesh. Here he was, searching for those sensitive spots that had Gabriel sighing low with pleasure. It was all too funny, but this had to be the most sensual and erotic experience of his life, he thought, and briefly imagined this was what insanity felt like.

  Time seemed to stand still while with his nimble, strong fingers he sought and found all those hard knots of tension and popped them open until the big man lay limp and languid on the cot, his back against the gray wall, his eyes closed and his slack lips parted.

  With an odd, pleased smile emerging on his face, Kieran moved on to the other foot and repeated the slow, meticulous attention he was lavishing on the cowboy.

  Whenever he was with Gabriel, though, the compulsion to speak, to explain, to defend, to rise to the occasion was there, pushing the words out of his mouth before he could stop himself. “You know, I wasn’t lying when I said I am not a Shadow Chaser. I’m not one of them. I’m not on their payroll.” The awkward silence lasted but a few seconds.

  “Does it matter?” Gabriel wasn’t accusatory, just neutral in his tone, and Kieran was forced to look up at the man’s brown eyes, the depths of which he couldn’t fathom. “The distinction you claim to be there, I mean. As far as I can see, the only difference between you and them is that they do it for a twisted ideology—while you do it for money.”